


Concealer

by yeaka



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: F/M, Ficlet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 05:51:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15308844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Mila fixes the situation.





	Concealer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Saniika](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saniika/gifts).



> A/N: Fill for saniika’s “Georgi and Mila [...] the quiet feel to them, the indulgent moments they shared” request on [my tumblr](http://yeaka.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Yuri On Ice or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

She sucks in a breath, then tells herself to stop, because she’s being ridiculous—she’s a _catch_. There’s no reason to be nervous. She’s young and beautiful and knows just what she’s doing, knows just what she wants, even if it took her awhile to get there. She rakes her hand back through her hair one last time, brushing ever last red curl into place, then knocks loudly on the door.

A few seconds pass, and then the handle turns, opening up into another grand hotel room the exact image of her own. Georgi looks mildly surprised to see her—or maybe just to see anyone. His face has been washed plain again, his skin lightly glistening with the telltale remnants of a shower. His hair’s softer than usual but still brushed into a point, like it’s been styled that way so long that it doesn’t know how to be anything else. The first time Mila ever saw it, she remembers laughing. But now she’s come around, and she thinks it suits him. Maybe even wants to run her fingers through it. Georgi’s the sort of man that thrives in the outrageous, regardless of what others think. 

Georgi greets her with a simple, “Mila,” to which she grins. His eyes do only the quickest sweep of her body, even though she spent a good hour prepping everything—a killer dress, perfect hair, alluring perfume and statement earrings. On any normal day, he probably spends as much time with preparation. But tonight she’s clearly caught him in his downtime. Somehow, he looks just as delectable in casual sweatpants and a tank top. It gives a great view of his thick biceps, and she can see the scrumptious line of his pecs through his shirt. While she takes in her fill, she waits for an invitation, but it doesn’t come.

Mila has to be the one to ask: “Aren’t you going to invite me in?”

Georgi lifts a dark brow. His deep voice reminds her: “It’s late, and we’re in a competition...”

“No drinks, I promise.” Mila lifts her empty hands and winks, feigning extra innocence. Georgi regards her a little longer, then seems to accept that she’s harmless enough. He steps aside.

Squeezing past him, Mila slips into the living area. It’s dim inside, lit with a single lamp on the side-table and the stars outside the tall windows overlooking the bright city skyline. She already knows where the light switch is, because it’ll be in the same place as hers, but she doesn’t go for it: this is better. She beelines for the couch and plops down dead center. Georgi shuts the door and turns to look at her. 

“You did great today,” Mila tells him, which isn’t just put on—his routine was _breathtaking_ , if a bit intense. It’s always interesting to watch her friends express themselves through their art, but Georgi has a way of charging in that stands out from all the others. Sometimes it’s in a good way, sometimes it isn’t. But Mila’s a ‘go big or go home’ kind of girl.

Placing his hands on hips, Georgi grins at her complement. His, “Thank you,” sounds just a _little_ but like preening. She can’t help but compare him to a peacock, and it’s not for the first time. 

Next comes the hard part. She pats the couch and admits, “There’s just one teeny, tiny thing to fix, though.”

The grin immediately shatters, and Georgi bristles. “I don’t need fixing.”

“Sure you do. Now get over here.”

She has to wave him over and wink before his feet move. A faint blush sprouts across his high cheekbones, but she can’t tell if it’s from annoyance or the sultry way she’s acting. He comes to her anyway, sitting down close enough that their knees brush, because she hasn’t left any room on the couch. He doesn’t shy away from it. When he’s in place, she shifts her purse onto her lap and fishes out her makeup bag, announcing, “I think your styling could use a bit of tweaking.”

Georgi visibly twitches. If she were anyone else, save another cute girl, he’d probably bite her head off. But they’re good enough friends that he just grunts, “I like my makeup.”

“I know, and hey, it’s cool you don’t care what others think. But don’t you want to make the ladies swoon?” And one specific lady in particular. 

He frowns, but it works. He begrudgingly asks her, “What’s your suggestion?”

A mere suggestion wouldn’t be nearly as much fun. She intends to _show_ him. She plucks a tiny bottle of foundation out of her bag and twists off the plastic. As she squirts a tiny glob onto her fingers, Georgi dryly tells her, “I don’t need that.”

“Everybody needs foundation.”

She could use a brush, and it might be smoother, but this is a good excuse to _touch_ , and Mila uses her hands to swipe little lines of it across his face. Despite his frown, Georgi remains still for her. She rubs it in along his cheeks and temples, smoothing over everything. When she’s finished, she takes a moment just to inspect her work, and Georgi blankly looks at her. She tries not to show any untoward reaction, even though it’s quite a different experience than practicing make up on her female friends. Or that one time she tried to put makeup on her boyfriend, and he put up a huge fight before making a joke out of it. Georgi’s a much better subject, and with the _right_ styling, he really could be a model.

The eye shadow she next selects is a dark mocha colour, though she knows he tends to go for blues and purples, or else just smudges of black all over his eyes. Her choice is a little more restrained, but still bold enough. She hooks a finger underneath his sharp chin and orders, “Close your eyes.”

Georgi obeys her surprisingly easily. He lets Mila dab the matte paste across his eyelids, lightly fading up in a gradient towards the arch of his eyebrows. When she’s finished, he tries to look at her again, and she can see that familiar _fire_ seeping back into his eyes, but she tells him, “ _Closed._ ” So he does.

If he did his own eyeliner, he’d probably draw rigid points, but she blends it in well, using it almost as mascara, just darkening and defining his thick lashes. She works in silence. The dim light would probably make it hard if he weren’t so absolutely still, but as it is, the mood of it is worth the squinting. As she’s finishing up the top of his left eye, he murmurs, “The colour’s too light.”

She counters easily, “It brings out your eyes.” And he doesn’t argue further.

This time, he waits a few seconds after she’s withdrawn before he straightens out. There’s a note of curiosity burning in his gaze, but she doesn’t answer it. She thinks she’s being obvious enough. Her minidress is practically skin-tight, and he could have a nice look at her cleavage while she’s got his face close, if he was the sort of man to steal a look. She doesn’t mind having a look at him: his face is all the more striking with the definition she’s given him. It’s only missing one thing.

Georgi tends to go for big, bold lipstick, but the tube that Mila pulls from her purse is a simple shimmering lip gloss, just enough to make his mouth really _shine_. She cups his face again as she applies it, enjoying the excuse to touch his lips. They’re every bit as soft as she imagined, though much of his body is hard. When she’s done with that, he looks _delicious_. 

She finds her compact mirror to give him a look, cheerfully announcing, “There. Wasn’t that easy?”

Georgi examines himself carefully, tilting this face both ways before finally admitting, “It’s not bad.”

She snorts, “It’s _amazing_. You’re welcome.”

He actually nods. Then he straightens out again and looks at her, maybe waiting. But Mila’s waiting too. The seconds stretch while she packs away her few supplies, much slower than she needs to. Her tall heels are still on, but sitting on the couch, he’s taller than her, broader, maybe one of the few men out there that’s actually _stronger_. He smells of a rich cologne, even though she must’ve caught him just before bed. She offers a winning smile, but it doesn’t change anything.

Finally, she admits defeat. She hates to think it, but there’s every chance that he hasn’t looked twice at her, that he’s still hung up on _Anya_ , even though she was a vile witch that didn’t appreciate him. It gals Mila to think she can’t best someone like that, but she’s not the type to beg. She rises off the couch, signaling her exit, and he walks her to the door like the gentleman he often is. He even opens it for her.

She walks out, but before she goes, something seizes her. Mila’s never liked defeat. She glances back and teases, “You know, I did manage to sneak a bottle of vodka into my room. Are you sure you don’t want a _little_ bit of fun?”

Georgi looks at her for a long moment. She waits for him to snap that she’s being ridiculous—that they have a competition to win and need all the beauty rest that they can get. It surprises her when he answers, “Let me get my coat.”

Mila grins wide as a tiger. Georgi turns back into the apartment, unaware of the hungry way that she’s already watching him go.


End file.
